


Blaster Pistil

by the_genderman



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Allergies, Anal Sex, Bottom Armitage Hux, Co-commanders with benefits, DENIAL ISN'T JUST A RIVER IN EGYPT, Denial of Feelings, Entirely due to the pollen, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Relationship, Prickly Kylux, Sex Pollen, They both like to think they're doms, Top Kylo Ren, Trans Kylo Ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:08:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29411001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_genderman/pseuds/the_genderman
Summary: Kylo gets Hux a plant to spice up his quarters. Kylo just thought it was cool looking. Hux looked up information about the plant’s light and water needs and any other quirks he might like to know, but perhaps the translation hadn’t been quite good enough…
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58





	Blaster Pistil

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this tweet: [ “I now badly need a fic in which Hux is terribly allergic to the sex pollen.”](https://twitter.com/aroseofgalaxies/status/1341245235528159239)  
> Yes, I know the pun is not botanically accurate, the stamen is what produces the pollen, but the pun was too good/awful to pass up.

Hux keeps the plant in his refresher. Partly because it is the safest place for both the plant and for Millicent. He can close the room off so that she won’t prick herself on the plant’s thorns or make herself ill by ingesting its leaves. Partly, also, because it is quite private. No one but he and Ren know that the plant is there; if anyone else did, they’d certainly never admit to having seen it. General Armitage Hux is not sentimental. He is cold, austere, and humorless. He does not keep tropical plants in his quarters. He has not replaced some of his usual sleek metal cabinetry with a wicker-like quasiwood shelving unit to give the vines something to cling to. He has not researched and installed the proper type of lamp in the corner of his ‘fresher to mimic the light of the sun that shone on Uudet VII as diffused through a jungle canopy. He has not ceded a portion of his salary each month to be allowed to take a hot _water_ shower, not simply a practical, economical sonic every cycle in order to provide some humidity for the plant. And no one, _absolutely_ no one, knows that the plant was a gift from Kylo Ren, who saw it on one of his missions, thought it looked ‘cool,’ and had it dug up and brought back to surprise his co-commander and very public rival.

The plant is a mass of vines growing out from a ball-like woody stem-body, the size of two clenched fists and densely covered with thorns. The vines are thornless, but lightly furred with tiny hairs that tickle the skin and help it grasp its support. The vines are each scored with a narrow, hairless groove from base to tip, a capillary channel to funnel moisture down to its stem-body. Its leaves are each about the size of a thumbnail, glossy and such a dark green as to be almost black with garish magenta veins. Hux checks the plant every so often to see if it is forming flower buds yet. From what he had managed to translate from the scant literature on the care and keeping of this species, the flowers were considered a delicacy by the native sentients on its homemoon, permissible only to be eaten by royalty. Either that or they were used in some sort of religious ceremony. The official language of Uudet Prime was notorious for how many different ways a word could be translated depending on what other words it was used with, but Hux thought he got the gist of how to care for his botanical companion.

Every cycle, upon waking for the start of his shift, Hux dutifully takes his hot-water shower, feeds the plant a few mils of liquid nutrient mixture, and moistens the soil of its pot, sprinkling a little water into the center of the stem-body where the vines emerge. It seems to appreciate that. Once the plant is fed and watered, he checks each vine, each leaf axil for the formation of flower buds. He is quite curious what the flowers taste like, to be forbidden to all but royalty. He has eaten flowers before, as a child. It was an Arkanisian tradition on the Vernal Equinox to consume a soup of saltbush flowers, a hardy seaside shrub that began bearing its tiny, peppery-tasting flowers before the grip of winter had left the air. His birth mother would prepare it in secret and make sure he consumed at least a few spoonfuls of the concoction. It tasted like a longing for the sea; he wonders if his plant’s flowers will taste complex and earthy like the rich, jungle soil it sprouted from, like the expensive caf varieties he sometimes splurges on. Perhaps they’ll have a spice to them, borne of chemical compounds within the plant’s cells to deter predation. Or sweet like nectar, if the entire flower is eaten and not just the petals. Or if its transplantation to a sterile pot on a space cruiser will have dulled its flavor. He’ll just have to wait and find out.

The first buds appear seemingly overnight, a dozen tightly furled little balls, each the size of his smallest fingernail. Hux notices them after his morning shower and is filled with an unfamiliar feeling of excitement and anticipation. From his carefully constructed outward appearance, one would never guess that he was capable of an emotion as unrestrained as ‘excitement.’ And yet, here he is, eagerly anticipating the blooming of a few flowers he could never admit to owning in the first place. If the literature was correct, the flowers could unfurl any time within the next four days, depending on temperature, humidity, light, and air currents. And when they do, he plans to make an occasion of it, giving himself a brief taste of royalty and the luxury of simply doing nothing for a few hours. His rank, his place in the Supreme Leader’s highly secretive inner circle, and his temperamental co-commander all ensure that no one will question a sudden deviation from his otherwise extremely precise daily schedule.

It’s the morning of the third day when the buds open. Hux wakes at 0500 hours as usual, collects and drinks a cup of caf from his automatic brewer—scheduled to begin its task shortly before he awakes—strips out of his pajamas, and enters his refresher for his shower and to check on his plant. Satisfied, if a little irritated, that the buds are still as tightly furled as ever, he steps into his shower and turns on the water. _I’m getting awfully spoiled by daily hot water showers_ , Hux thinks to himself as he washes up methodically. Sonics have an option to warm the shower cubicle above ambient temperature, but it’s not the same as letting a nice hot jet of water help relax muscles sore from deskwork or from his stiff public posture. He certainly wouldn’t consider himself old yet, but he’s begun to feel a little stiff, a little sore after his shifts on his feet and his long hours doing datawork at his desk. Perhaps he needs to consider more supportive boot inserts, begin looking into stretching routines. And perhaps, also, he could afford to keep this hot water shower in his budget… he lets his mind wander as he washes.

Hux nearly stumbles getting out of the shower, his foot hitting the floormat awkwardly and causing it to slip and wrinkle. He can be forgiven for being startled though, as the vines—which he _knows_ he checked before getting into the shower—have erupted in a riot of colorful blooms. He can certainly see why they would be considered the territory of royalty. Each flower is about three centimeters across with five rounded magenta petals, their hue even more saturated than the veins of the plant’s leaves. Each petal is speckled with tiny black flecks like ink, and an iridescent golden streak as jagged as Ren’s saberblade splits it into vibrant hemispheres. The middle of the bloom is practically luminous, as yellow as the sun that shone on Uudet VII. In the very center of the flower is a round little golden bead of a pistil, ringed with even tinier black beads that Hux assumes must be the stamens. He counts eleven flowers, nearly every bud opening rapidly and simultaneously. Overcome with curiosity and wonder, he leans in to touch one of the flowers, to assure himself that this is real. It smells real enough, a sweet scent reminiscent of papple fruit.

The flower responds immediately to the barest brush of Hux’s finger, erupting in a tiny, dense cloud of pollen that seems almost magnetically drawn to his wet skin, hitting him directly in the face. Hux jerks back, startled and sneezing. The loose floormat slides under his heel as he does, and he reaches out to steady himself, grabbing for the closest solid object he can get his hand around. As he does, he jostles the plant pot, causing the other ten flowers to detonate, further spraying him with pollen. For a brief moment, he regrets ever accepting the plant. True, it might be a nice bit of color in an otherwise drab environment, but he certainly didn’t remember reading anything about it having such an _explosive_ method of pollination. Weren’t there enough native insects to do that for it?

Finally managing to steady himself, Hux gasps—and sneezes a couple more times for good measure—when he sees himself in the mirror. Wherever the pollen touched him, his skin is now forming a colorful bloom of its own. He raises a hand to his cheek, trying to brush the pollen away, to keep the itchy, angry rash from forming. His fingertips begin to tingle and he quickly turns the sink on and begins scrubbing furiously at them. He really _will_ have to get rid of that plant now, royal flowers be damned. Practically his whole upper body is beginning to itch; he needs to get the pollen off of him _now_. Maybe if he stops the reaction before the rash has a chance to spread, before it has a chance to further irritate his skin, he won’t have to cancel _all_ of his upcoming meetings. His uniform will cover most of the rash and he knows a few of his fellow officers wear makeup to conceal facial birthmarks or old scars, unwilling to look anything less than perfect in a hostile environment where weakness is preyed upon on a nearly daily basis. He understands the feeling. As for the itching? Well, he knows how to power through discomfort. 

As he gets the shower turned back on and the hot water sluices over him, washing the pollen off of his skin, Hux nearly moans with pleasure. He’s still itchy, sneezes a couple more times, but the water feels exquisite. His cock twitches. He gets a sudden urge to call Ren.

…And do _what_ once he does? Berate him for gifting him a plant neither of them knew he was allergic to? Invite him to share the shower? Ask him to bring over some allergy paste? Hux thinks that last one might not be a bad idea. He chalks up the middle suggestion to a few memories of the brief but intense fling he and Ren had immediately after Ren was assigned to his ship. Why they’re surfacing again _now_ , he’s not sure. He can’t remember why they broke things off. No time? Antagonistic personalities? Probably both of those. He had been too busy silencing the naysayers who didn’t believe someone as young as he could have gotten his rank by merit alone and doing his utmost to make the _Finalizer_ his by rights. Ren had been too busy with his training as Snoke’s apprentice. Technically, Ren was still the Supreme Leader’s apprentice, but he was allowed a far longer leash these days. If it were lengthened any further, Ren might very well turn around and cut it right off—

Why is he thinking so much about _Ren_ right now? Hux shakes his head, sneezes again, and shuts off the shower. Just because he’s paid for the use of the hot water, just because it will be filtered and recycled and returned to circulation, doesn’t mean he ought to waste resources. He steps out of the shower, sneezes again, and grabs a towel to wrap around his waist. He’s still itchy. Blinking water out of his eyelashes, he looks at himself in the mirror again. His chest and arms are blotchy, mottled red, pink, and the nearly translucent white of an already pale-skinned human who’s spent the majority of his life under artificial ship’s lights and neck-to-toe uniforms. A few reddish spots have blossomed on his left thigh, but thankfully he’s mostly unaffected below the waist. His face is less patchy, having received a dose of the pollen at near point-blank range, looking more like a flush than a rash, but he thinks his cheeks look a little puffy. It’s still unpleasantly itchy, though. His mind wanders again. He _ought_ to call Ren. Have him bring the allergy paste this rash certainly requires, and then have _him_ apply it. There’s no need to bother Medical for something like this. And besides, Ren still owes him a favor after the little ‘incident’ on Talloraxus. 

Quickly blotting water off of himself and wrapping the towel around his waist for modesty’s sake, Hux hurries from his refresher to his desk, sneezing once along the way. He settles in, flinching at the chill of the alusteel chair against his bare back. He unlocks his desk, pulls his datapad out of its drawer, and brings up Ren’s contact, voice only. Whether Ren is awake yet remains to be seen. Some days he’s awake even earlier than Hux, other days he’s not seen until well into the cycle’s second shift. The datapad beeps far more patiently than Hux’s thoughts, racing ever more insistently towards Ren. Finally Ren picks up.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Ren’s voice is thick with sleep and simmering with irritation. “What do you _want_?”

“I need you,” Hux says, the words escaping his mouth before his brain registers them. He hopes Ren is too sleep-addled to pick up on the desperation that had crept uninvited into his voice. He sneezes a couple more times for good measure.

“Oh?” Ren’s mood changes in a flash. He sounds amused now.

“Yes. I need you to acquire a tube of allergy paste, by whatever means necessary, and bring it to my quarters. As quickly as possible,” Hux orders, trying to ignore the feeling that one simple word (and the way it was intoned) is causing in him. He doesn’t have time for that. He and Ren haven’t been ‘involved’ for almost a full standard year. They’ve hooked up once or twice since then. Well, maybe a few dozen times, but they were just letting off steam in whatever closet was closest, or Ren’s quarters if they were feeling particularly extravagant. Neither of them had time for a relationship. That was then, this is now, and besides, he’s covered in an itchy rash. He _shouldn’t_ be in the mood.

“I think I can manage that,” Ren says. Part of Hux doesn’t like the tone that Ren’s voice has taken on. Another part of him finds it… quite appealing.

\------------

By the time Ren arrives, bypassing the locks either to save time on the comms or simply to show off that he _can_ , Hux has moved to his couch. He’s lying on his side with his arms crossed over his chest, hands balled up in his armpits, groaning softly and trying very hard not to scratch himself. Or touch himself; he’s grown quite hard just in the time since he called Ren. He’s been thinking far too much about Ren and their past exploits, and even the intolerable itching hasn’t done anything to tame his arousal. He looks up as he hears the door open and sneezes five times in quick succession.

“That’s _quite_ the rash you’ve got. It’s not contagious, is it?” Kylo asks, voice distorted by his mask. He locks the door behind him and strides over to crouch in front of Hux. 

Hux can feel Ren’s eyes running over his mostly bare skin even if he can’t see them. _Would be nicer if it was his_ hands _and not just his eyes_ , a little voice at the back of his mind supplies.

“I asked for allergy paste; allergies aren’t contagious,” Hux huffs out loud and sneezes again. “Unless you’re _also_ allergic to the plant you gave me, I’d say you’re safe enough.”

“I’m not allergic to anything,” Ren says. There’s a hiss of pneumatics and his voice changes mid-sentence as he removes his mask. He sets it down on the closer of the two end tables.

“ _Congratulations_ ,” Hux replies as sarcastically as he can manage. _Now how about you shut your mouth, get the allergy paste out, and put those hands of yours to good use!_ he adds to himself. 

_Eager, aren’t we?_ Ren answers directly into Hux’s head.

Hux twitches violently like he’s touched a live wire, sneezes, and scrambles to sit up. He loses his towel as he does. Stars! He’d somehow managed to forget Ren could do that.

“Remember? I can read minds,” Ren says, grinning and raising his eyebrows lecherously as he gestures towards Hux’s cock. “Just like I said. Eager. I’ll be waiting in your bedroom to help you out with both of your problems.”

“Did you seriously bring—” Hux begins, eyes drawn to the bulge in Ren’s pocket he somehow hadn’t noticed when he walked in.

“I can read minds,” Ren repeats, rising to his feet. “Not that I needed to; you were projecting so strongly that I could feel it over your call.”

Hux blinks, twisting around to watch Ren disappear into his bedroom. Had he really? He’d have to be more careful about that in the future. Wouldn’t do for Ren to get the upper hand on him, even if he was nice to look at and an enjoyable fuck. Unless… unless they worked _together_? Would that even be feasible? 

“I heard that too!” Ren calls from Hux’s bedroom. Hux quickly cuts off that line of thinking, scrambles to his feet, briefly considers the towel, and leaves it where it is. He can take care of it later or else have a droid come by and tidy up after he and Ren are done.

When Hux enters his bedroom, Ren is standing next to the bed undressing. He’s already stripped down most of the way, with only his leggings and undershirt left to go. The rest of his layers have been scattered across the floor without a second thought, as is his usual habit. The tube of allergy paste, a hypospray, his strap-on, and the bottle of lube he got out of Hux’s nightstand are sitting in the middle of the bed as if on display. Waiting for Hux to join them. Ren looks up at him.

“Before you ask, Millie’s asleep in her cat-tree,” Ren says, anticipating Hux’s next question.

“Yes, yes,” Hux says abruptly, climbing onto the bed and settling in cross-legged facing Ren. He sneezes again. “Less talking, more assisting me with this abominable itch.”

“I think I can help you out with more than just that,” Ren says remarkably calmly. He removes the last of his clothes and climbs onto the bed with Hux. “Any of the rash on your back? No? Alright then, lie down and I’ll take care of you.”

Hux does as he’s asked, pushing the little collection of items towards Ren. He doesn’t like letting Ren order him around, but he’s very itchy. And incredibly turned on, considering how itchy he is. He lies down and forces himself to relax as much he can, given the circumstances. Ren picks up the hypospray first, explaining that it should help with the sneezing. Hux nods and allows the injection. It stings a bit at first, as usual, but he feels the effects almost immediately. He looks over at his brightest wall-light and doesn’t even feel the slightest urge to sneeze. Good. He reaches up to scratch at his cheek. Ren’s hand meets his immediately, large fingers wrapping around his and moving them away from his face.

“No scratching, you’ll just irritate it more,” Ren says firmly. 

“Then get that tube open and do something about it,” Hux orders, frowning expressively and trying to pull his hand free. He has to remind Ren who’s in charge here.

Ren laughs, but he does let go of Hux’s hand. He picks up the tube and pops the lid open, squeezes out a small dollop of the thick paste onto his fingertips, pauses a moment, then reaches over to apply it to Hux’s cheek. Hux flinches reflexively, expecting the usual chill of the paste, but it’s pleasantly warm. Ren chuckles.

“Even _you_ have to admit the Force has its uses,” Ren says smugly.

Hux declines to comment, instead closing his eyes and turning his head to offer his other cheek. He groans softly as Ren complies, fingers gentle in contrast to his more usual violence. Gentle and warm, and the paste feels so good against his irritated skin. The medication is taking effect already, the itching subsiding. Hux grabs Ren’s wrist to try to bring his hand down to his chest.

“ _Hux_ , I have to get more paste, ok?” Ren says, a flash of annoyance entering his voice, but dissipating quickly. He shakes Hux’s hand off roughly. They’re creatures of habit and find it difficult to completely move past their flaws even in intimate moments such as this, sought out by both, to whatever degree either is capable of desiring intimacy. 

Ren’s hand recedes and returns, recedes and returns. Its warmth and the soothing tingle of the allergy paste sweep over Hux like a rising tide, and he lets himself sink into that ocean. He moans. As the itching fades, his arousal grows even more pronounced, impossible to ignore. As the allergy paste soothes Hux’s skin, Ren’s hands set it alight again with a different fire. He hasn’t been touched gently like this in a long, long time. His body cries out for more, wants Ren’s hands on every part of him, stroking, petting, like they actually _like_ each other. They’ve fucked, fast and rough, they’ve exchanged unsubtle hurried oral in cramped supply closets, but this is dangerously intimate for the two of them and he _wants_ it so badly. Hux squirms under Ren’s touch, spreading his legs and lifting his hips from the bed, trying to find some reprieve. His cock has been hard since Ren arrived and he’s barely even looked at it, much less touched it yet (never mind that he hasn’t touched himself, either). Doesn’t Ren know he _needs_ this?

“Patience,” Ren says, grabbing Hux’s left knee. He holds his leg down to apply paste to the last patch of rash, and Hux gasps at the complete cessation of itching. “I’m going to go wash my hands and then I’ll be back to take care of you. I’d say don’t start without me, but I know you won’t listen and I might as well have you all ready for me by the time I get back and get my cock on.”

“Don’t tell me to be patient!” Hux calls out after Ren, watching him dismount the bed and disappear into the ‘fresher. The nerve of him; one of them knows what patience is, and it _isn’t_ Ren. What if he _actually_ waits until Ren comes back? Just to prove him wrong. 

Hux manages to wait exactly six seconds before he reaches out to grab the lube. He thinks he can hear Kylo snort a laugh over the sound of the sink, but he doesn’t care. He needs this, and he needs it as soon as is humanly possible. He pours out some lube and rolls onto his side to begin fingering himself. It’s almost too much. He wants to turn over onto his belly, rutting against the sheets and muffling his screams like he’s an inexperienced teenager again, just discovering the pleasures of his prostate, but he resists the urge. He adds a third finger in anticipation of Ren’s strap—larger than it strictly needs to be, but Ren’s insecure and Hux likes the discomfort a little too much. He _could_ take care of himself, could have eased this nearly overpowering arousal on his own, but he didn’t. He called Ren for a reason, and no matter what he might tell himself, it wasn’t just for the allergy paste. 

The mattress shifts and then Hux feels Ren’s hands on his waist, lifting him bodily and depositing him face down, arse up, fingers still inside him. Hux slips his hand free, eager for Ren to take their place. Ren’s hands are moving again, one gripping his hip tightly enough that he’ll probably bruise, the other sliding up his spine to come to rest at the back of his neck. He leans in, squeezing slightly. 

“It’s cute that you think you’re in charge,” Ren says, and Hux can hear both the sneer and the grin in his voice.

“ _Finally_. I have you exactly where I want you,” Hux replies, squirming and spreading his legs wider apart. He lifts himself up onto his elbows, pushing back against Ren’s hold on his neck. Ren doesn’t resist. Hux smirks to himself. “I’m ready—are _you_?”

No answer, but Ren removes his hands from Hux’s body, and Hux hears the pop of the lube cap. The hurried, wet sounds of Ren slicking his cock, and then Ren’s hands are on him again, fingers digging into his hips. Hux gasps as Ren finally penetrates him, belatedly remembering to breathe through the breach. It’s almost too much, too quickly, and he loves it. He curls his fingers into his sheets, his cock twitches, and he’s afraid for a moment he’s going to come before Ren’s even fully seated into him. As if reading his mind—or possibly actually reading his mind—Ren pauses to let him equilibrate.

When Ren begins to thrust in earnest, Hux actually _keens_. It’s embarrassing, but it’s not entirely his fault. Ren plays dirty; soon as he’d buried himself to the hilt he activated the little vibrator embedded in the base of his strap. Ostensibly, it’s there for Ren’s pleasure, but when he’s this deep into Hux, when Hux is so full of him and so open to him, he knows exactly what it does to him.

“You like this,” Ren purrs, as he slides his hands up Hux’s sides, onto his no longer itchy chest, wrapping his arms around him. Ren covers Hux, lying heavy on his back, hands on his chest, enveloping him in his warmth.

He does, actually. Hux moans through his teeth. He likes the knowledge that Ren is larger than him, stronger than him, could overpower him. He likes the edge of danger. He likes the knowledge that, despite everything, if he tells Ren to stop, he will. Ren likes to argue, likes to play like he’s in charge, but they both know the truth. All Hux had to do was call and Ren came running. But most of all, the thing he keeps as quiet as he can manage, hidden away deep inside him somewhere so secret even Ren won’t be able to pick the locks and take it from him, is that he likes the way Ren touches him. It’s never been enough in their hurried liaisons, leaving his starved skin even hungrier when they’d finished, but he savored what he was given. It always left him wanting more, wanting those hands on him over and over again. Ren can be rough, temperamental, violent, but also surprisingly gentle. His fingers can leave bruises, but so too can they be tender. Hux wished Ren could have given him more of those gentle touches in their stolen time together, but there was never enough time. Perhaps someday they’ll be able to simply rest in one another’s arms, reveling in soft touches, instead of hurriedly refastening pants and belts and hoping they didn’t smell too strongly of sex and desperation before returning to duty.

“You _need_ this, you need _me_ ,” Ren adds, panting, words punctuated as he, too, draws closer to orgasm. He buries himself deep inside Hux, grinding against the buzzing base of his strap with every stroke. He hasn’t yet, in any of their assignations, managed to come while inside Hux, but it certainly hasn’t been from lack of trying. 

One of Ren’s hands slides down from Hux’s chest, over his stomach. Warm fingers still slightly slick with lube curl around his cock, playing with him. Teasing the head, the slit, the frenulum, coaxing both precome and whines of pleasure out of him. Hux is afraid he’s going to collapse under Ren’s weight as the overwhelming sensation of rapidly approaching orgasm steals the strength from his limbs. He’s shaking, panting, making the most undignified sounds as Ren takes him apart. 

Hux thinks he may have actually whited out as he came; he’d never felt an orgasm so intense before, and he’s a little afraid he won’t ever again. He needs to let himself savor this. He allows himself to sink into the floating feeling, the wonderful soreness, the haze of bliss. He’s lying on his side now, Ren still at his back. Ren has an arm wrapped around his chest, fingers idly stroking one nipple to try to draw more little moans out of him. Ren’s other hand grips his own cock, now tucked between Hux’s thighs—Hux isn’t sure when he pulled out—as he grinds into the vibrator and works himself to his own orgasm. Ren could easily stay buried in him well beyond the point of overstimulation, but he doesn’t. Hux isn’t sure why, but he knows it’s something he can use in his favor. No matter how publically Ren might threaten him, when he actually has Hux at his mercy, he can’t seem to take advantage. Perhaps they _would_ be better off together… Something to consider. But now, Ren’s fingers spasm, digging into Hux’s chest as he buries his face into the curve of his neck. Ren groans, long and loud into Hux’s shoulder, and he can feel the rumble through his skin, resonating through his body. Can feel the tension snap as Ren comes. The Force shudders and ripples out from him, passing through and over Hux and rattling loose items like a shockwave. 

The buzzing stops, Ren rolls onto his back then sits up, still breathing heavily. Hux feels the bed shift, rolls onto his back, and turns his head to watch as Ren climbs off and heads immediately to the refresher. A few minutes pass and he returns, strap dangling from one hand. His other hand holds a little glass vial that had, until just moments ago, held one of Hux’s various— _expensive_ —hair products. It now holds the twelfth, still-unopened, flower bud. Ren sets it down on the nightstand, drops his strap next to Hux, and begins dressing.

“Leaving already?” Hux asks, stretching one arm out toward Ren. He’s sated, which would usually mean he’d be happy enough to see the back of Ren, but he’s strangely hesitant to let him go.

“I want to get this flower analyzed,” Ren replies, pulling his leggings back up and getting his packer readjusted.

“Why—because I’m allergic to it?” Hux asks, face wrinkling in mild confusion. Did the gifting of the plant really mean that much to Ren that he’d want to fix things so Hux could keep it?

“Well, yes, but also there’s something strange about that plant, about the pollen,” Ren replies as he continues to dress. “When I washed the allergy paste off my hands, I wiped your counter down to clean the pollen off for you, but I got some of it on me when I did. Not as much as you must have gotten, but enough that I felt it. If I thought I was already turned on…” Ren gives a short laugh. “I don’t _get_ wet anymore, but I swear I did. I don’t know how you didn’t just jerk off right there on the ‘fresher floor or go off as soon as I touched you. I saw your face—I saw your cock.”

“I was very itchy, ok?” Hux says, sitting up slowly. The apparently pollen-induced arousal has mostly worn off now that he’s come, and he probably ought to start preparing for his day. His schedule will have to be adjusted for this delay, but he’ll manage. Everyone else will manage.

“And I was the first one you thought to call,” Ren says, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a dangerous smile. He pockets the allergy paste, his strap, and the little vial. “Not Medical, not even a med droid who would keep your secrets better than anyone on this ship— _me_. That’s good to know.”

“And what are you going to do once you get the flower analyzed?” Hux asks, passing just a little closer to Ren than is strictly necessary on his way to his closet. If his hand brushes Ren’s arm, if it lingers a little too long on his bicep, well…

“I’m going to find out what makes it work, and then I’m going to figure out how to make you not allergic to it so I don’t have to ply you with allergy paste before I fuck you stupid the next time it flowers,” Ren laughs and leaves Hux’s bedroom to collect his mask again.

“How do you know I’m not going to just compost the whole plant at my first opportunity?” Hux calls out after him, not yet clothed enough to follow Ren out.

“Aside from the itching, you liked it too much. I know you did. You’ll keep the plant and you’ll call me again. I’ll be ready.” With that, Ren swept his mask up from the table, settled it on, and strode out of Hux’s quarters. Hux watched him go. How conceited of Ren to assume there would be an ‘again.’ He wasn’t _wrong_ , but… Still conceited. Hux continued dressing for the day.


End file.
